Chapter Three #2
“Light and bright.” Perhaps even a judicious use of looking glasses here and there at strategic points, avoiding the excesses of the house next door!
“Yes, that might work. I’ll think about it.
Thank heaven Mr. Walsall preferred good-quality, comfortable furniture rather than the latest fashion. Much of it is perfectly all right.”
“And so little used, it’s hardly worn.”
“The cleaners are going to be here for the next couple of days and I can’t—Isn’t that the doorbell? Someone at the front door? Who on earth …?”
“Must be a Fuller Brush man.”
“A what?”
“Don’t you have them here? A door-to-door salesman. Shall I get rid of him?”
“Yes, please.”
As he went out, Daisy turned away from the window.
The room was larger than their only sitting room in St. John’s Wood, and there was the drawing room at the front, as well.
The furniture really wasn’t bad, though she might use the St. John’s Wood stuff in here.
White paint and new curtains—yes, she could see the possibilities.
Once the electricity was turned on, and the boiler stoked and lighted to run the radiators—
“It’s a maid from next door, Mrs. Fletcher,” Lambert announced buoyantly. “We’re invited for cocktails.”
“Oh dear! I can’t possibly go. I’m covered in dust and cobwebs.”
The maid had followed him in. “It don’t show, ma’am,” she said.
“That’s because I wore brown tweed, on purpose.”
“I’ll fetch you a clothes brush.”
“Thank you. But no amount of brushing will transform a coat and skirt into a cocktail dress.”
“Not to worry, ’m. It’ll just be family. Mrs. Jessup said to tell you it’s just so’s the master can meet the new neighbours, seeing he came home yesterday from foreign parts. Mr. Aidan’s back from the shop, too.”
As usual with Daisy, curiosity overcame any reluctance to appear incorrectly dressed. With the gentlemen present, perhaps she’d get the answers to some of her questions about the Jessups.
A few minutes later, the maid preceded them into a large drawing room at the front of the Jessups’ house. It was furnished—to Daisy’s disappointment—in a thoroughly conventional manner.
“Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, madam,” the maid announced.
“Who, me?” bleated Lambert, at his most inane.
“Oh, this gentleman isn’t my husband,” Daisy said at the same time. “This is Mr. Lambert. He’s visiting from America.”
Mrs. Jessup, rising to greet them, sank back into her chair as if her legs had suddenly lost their strength. Already on their feet, the two men froze. After a moment, they exchanged a silent glance of consternation.
Audrey Jessup stepped into the breach. “How do you do, Mr. Lambert? Mrs. Fletcher, Father says you’ve definitely decided to move in. I’m thrilled!”
By the time she had made all necessary introductions, the others had recovered their sangfroid. Her husband made no mention of his previous meeting with Daisy in the garden, so she followed his lead, despite wondering about the reason for his reticence.
His father, Maurice Jessup, a portly man, was wearing a well-cut suit designed to disguise that fact.
His jowls hung over the knot of his tie, and his forehead was receding towards the crown of his head.
His present worried frown looked out of place on a face that seemed essentially genial.
He offered drinks: “Anything you fancy,” he said, gesturing at a cabinet standing open to display bottles of every conceivable shape, size, and colour. “Aidan, you do the honours, will you?”
While his son poured and mixed, he turned to Lambert and asked warily, “Are you over here on business?”
“Not really, sir. Well, kind of.”
This response—to Daisy’s ears, typical of Lambert’s vagueness—appeared to hold some sinister significance to the Jessups.
She was tempted to tell them he was on government business, just to see what their reactions would be.
She resisted temptation, remembering how chary he’d been of revealing his “business” to the Pearsons.
It was quite conceivable that he was being obfuscatory on purpose.
“Which part of America are you from?” asked Audrey, the only one not disturbed by Lambert’s presence.
“Arizona, ma’am.”
“Is that in the South?”
“Southwest. It’s mostly desert and mountains, no real big cities. The population of the whole state’s not much above three hundred thousand. My father owns the biggest insurance company in the state. Both our senators are customers. That’s how he got me a job in … er, hmm, on the East Coast.”
Daisy came to the rescue. “We met in New York a couple of years ago. I was over there on a writing assignment.”
“Oh yes, Father mentioned that you’re a writer. How marvellous!” Audrey exclaimed. “What do you write? Do you use a pen name?”
“Magazine articles, under my maiden name, Daisy Dalrymple.”
“In Town and Country?” asked Mrs. Jessup. “I’ve read several. You always have such fascinating snippets of the history of the places you write about.”
Everyone seized on this new topic and worried it to death. Then they moved on to the house next door and Daisy’s plans for it.
Mr. Jessup was given to colourful notions, such as enclosing the front porch and turning it into a conservatory for hothouse orchids.
Recalling his Continental travels, Daisy decided the miniature Galerie des Glaces must be blamed on him rather than on his wife.
She, in contrast, made several helpful suggestions about the kitchens and servants’ rooms. Aidan took after his mother in practicality, offering the name of a housepainter whose work and charges they had found satisfactory.
His wife seconded everyone’s proposals with enthusiasm, but her chief interest was in the nursery, which she was longing to see.
“As soon as it’s been cleaned and painted,” Daisy promised. “I’m sure you’ll be able to give me some ideas.”
When Daisy started making “time we were getting home” noises, Mr. Jessup said, “If by any chance you’re thinking of having a housewarming party, I’ll be glad to let you have any wines and spirits you want at wholesale.”
Daisy must have looked as blank as she felt, because Aidan added, “We’re in the business, you know, Mrs. Fletcher. Jessup and Sons of New Bond Street, since 1837.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise.” That would explain Mr. Jessup’s travels, visiting wine growers, no doubt. About to comment, she recalled just in time that she had been eavesdropping when she overheard Mrs. Jessup’s mention of his whereabouts. “That’s awfully kind of you.”
“Just a gesture to welcome new neighbours,” said Aidan, perhaps with an eye to depressing future expectations.
“I’m afraid,” Daisy went on regretfully, “my husband’s job precludes our accepting favours.”
“Civil service?” he asked.
“Yes, sort of.”
“No one need know,” said his father.
“Thank you, but it’s just not on.” The inevitable moment had come when Mr. Irwin’s discretion went for nothing and all must be revealed. “Alec’s a policeman, you see. Scotland Yard. He’s a detective.”
“Too thrilling!” Audrey exclaimed.
The rest of the Jessups appeared more dismayed than thrilled.
“Of course he can’t accept a gift, then,” said Mr. Jessup with a jovial laugh that didn’t quite come off. “Are you a policeman, too, Mr. Lambert?”
“Who, me?” Lambert said blankly.
“Lambert’s usual idiotic response to any question about himself,” Daisy told Alec later that evening when he rang up, “but it averted further interrogation and they dropped the subject.”
“They were alarmed, though, to hear I’m a copper?”
Daisy considered. “Perturbed is the word. They didn’t seem as worried as Mr. Irwin was.”
“Perhaps Irwin, as a lawyer, is more aware of the legal ramifications of whatever they’re doing. You say the Jessups run an off-licence?”
“I should think they call themselves ‘Purveyors of Fine Wines and Spirits to the Aristocracy.’ Premises in New Bond Street, and the elder Jessup trots around the Continent, presumably visiting vineyards.”
“Most likely they’re evading duty somewhere. Not my headache, thank heaven. I don’t feel obliged to tip off Customs and Excise, especially as the whole thing may exist only in your imagination.”
“It’s not!” said Daisy indignantly. “You don’t think it could have something to do with their unwanted Yankee visitor?”
“Great Scott, Daisy, it’s not against the law to have visitors from America, even unwanted ones, or we’d be in trouble ourselves!
It’s probably just the shiftiness the law-abiding public so often display when coming face-to-face with the police.
Are you having second thoughts about moving in next door? ”
“Oh no, darling. I like them. Mrs. Jessup’s read my articles—”
“A sure way to a writer’s heart.”
“And she didn’t tell the others about my writing as ‘the Hon.,’ which was jolly decent of her. It would have been frightfully embarrassing! Of course, maybe she didn’t notice or had forgotten.”
“I wish you could persuade your editors to leave it off.”
“Believe me, so do I. At least in England. I don’t care if—”
“Your time is up, caller,” the exchange operator announced. “Do you want another three minutes?”
“Let me see if I have change. Daisy, I’ll be home tomorrow late, but I have to leave again early the next—”
Click click bzzzz. They were cut off. With a sigh, Daisy hung up the receiver.
“Gee whiz!” Lambert stood on the stairs, staring at Daisy. “Are you telling me some guy from the States called on the Jessups?”
“No.”
“They didn’t have an American—?”
“I wasn’t telling you anything.”
Lambert looked confused. “You mean there was—?”
“I mean it’s not really any of your business. Or mine, come to that.”
“Aw, gee, come on, Mrs. Fletcher! I’m here to do a job for the government—”
“Not my government. As it happens, I can’t tell you anything for certain anyway. I overheard what sounded to me like an American accent, but I could well have been mistaken.”